


kitten

by illycrium



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Abuse, Animal Death, Child Abuse, M/M, Molestation, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 13:08:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22496599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illycrium/pseuds/illycrium
Summary: loosely happyverse relatedA Snufkin is a Joxter's father in a world where Joxters prey on Snufkins. Snufkin resents his son.
Relationships: Joxaren | The Joxter & Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20
Collections: Happyverse





	1. Chapter 1

“I want to play in the water, papa.” The little Joxter says, poking his toes into the water. The river was soft and gentle and cool against his skin, and he aches to slip into the water and escape the sun’s heat. He looks to his papa, eyes bright for approval. “Please, papa?” 

The older Snufkin stares him down, brows furrowed and lip curled in such disdain that the Joxter falters, curling his hands to his chest in concern. 

“Just for a little bit, papa,” he explains softly, “it’s-it’s very hot.” 

“I know it’s hot, you moron.”

Joxter flinches.

“Do you even know how to swim?” He continues, his voice hard and knuckles white around his fishing pole. “Joxters are too stupid and lazy to learn such a thing.” 

The Joxter fiddles with his fingernails, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, a fist curling inside his belly and sending tingles through his chest. He’s nervous. “I’m not stupid, papa.” He protests weakly, and his fingers clench when he sees Snufkin look up. 

In an instant, the fishing pole is forgotten. Snufkin rises to his knees and fists Joxter’s coat in his paws, yanking him and slamming him down into the water’s still, serene surface. 

His face is inches from the surface, and in his alarm he had gotten no breath. Water rushes into his mouth, down his throat when he gasps for air. Stupidly, he thinks. You can’t breathe water, you idiot.

Snufkin allows him up for air, and the Mumrik chokes and coughs, legs paddling the air. 

“Can you swim, Joxter?” Snufkin sneers. He forces Joxter into the water again, who releases a short scream before he’s muffled by the river’s embrace.

It lasts forever. Up, then down. Up, then down. He’s bawling by the time Snufkin grows bored, hauling him back up and dumping him into the grass. 

He vomits, all river water and bile and a bit of breakfast. He shakes on his belly, gasping between sobs, clutching at the grass. Snufkin’s looking at him again, eyes all cold and distant and paws curled into fists. Joxter instinctively throws his paws over his head fearing a blow, and weeps into the dirt.

“You can’t swim, it seems.”

When they fish next, Joxter sweats and stares sullenly into the cool river. He steps well away from the shore and Snufkin’s grasp, and busies himself picking flowers that he knows Snufkin will burn later.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> father and son go to the store

Joxter’s never been in a store before. Although anxious at first, he was quick to pull away from Snufkin and patter over to a shelf full of knick knacks. Snufkin is speaking to the clerk in hushed tones, and the Joxter can hear him across the store, but it’s nothing interesting. Besides, papa would be furious to find out he eavesdropped, because Joxters ought to mind their own business.

There’s a pretty plate sitting on a shelf. It’s cold and smooth in his paws, a clear ivory and embellished with blue spirals and swirls that form tree branches and perching little birds. He holds it carefully, eyes roving along each and every unique design. It seems all hand-painted, crafted with—

“I’ll kill him someday, I swear to you. I’m just about sick of seeing his face.” 

Joxter drops the plate, and it pops apart with a terrible sound that has the Mumrik throwing his paws over his ears. 

Snufkin wouldn’t do that, he thinks. 

Papas don’t kill their sons. Snufkin, with all his rage, is still his papa. They love each other, and spend time together. 

They go fishing, they cook meals. Snufkin is his papa. Joxter loves his papa, even when his papa is being rough and calling him awful names—

He wouldn’t. He must have misheard.

He knows he misheard. 

Joxters are very stupid, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> naughty joxters must be punished

Snufkin beats him that night. He’s hissing and spitting the whole walk back to the camp, his fingers leaving bruises in Joxter’s white wrists. He snarls threats and insults but Joxter can only hear, 

“I’ll kill him someday.”

“Papa?” The child squeaks softly as his father snaps his belt double, drags him to the log they sit on for meals. Eating meals and playing instruments together. Papa was teaching him how to play the harmonica. 

Snufkin kicks the back of his knees so he kneels, and bends him over the log. Joxter helpfully squirms out of his pants, baring his pale little butt. 

“Papa—“ he says again. Snufkin pushes up his coat. “Papa, you wouldn’t kill me.”

Snufkin stops. Joxter can feel eyes on the back of his head, and he twists to meet Snufkin’s vicious glare with his own rounded gaze. 

“I know you wouldn’t. You’re my papa.”

Neither seem convinced. Snufkin’s glare darkens. 

“I-I love you, papa.” Joxter says very softly, and presses his hips back. He saw a girl do this once, and it made the man she did it to very happy. Snufkin is frozen, grip slowly loosening on the belt he has brandished. 

“I’m sorry—I’m bad a lot,” because he’s a Joxter, “I try to be good. I’m really sorry, papa.” 

He’s rubbing his butt against his daddy’s groin. Something gets stiff against him, and he stops, but then his daddy grabs his hips and starts moving them with his paws again.

“Keep going.” Snufkin’s breath is all tobacco and lunch and grime, hot against his ear and it has his little whiskers twitching. He obeys, even when the paws leave his sides and start to rustle clothing behind him until papa’s lap is bare and his penis is very stiff and—

Snufkin beats the belt against Joxter’s rump. The pain startles him into hugging the log, a shrill yelp filling their campsite. Snufkin hits him again, and he curls his nails into the log and attempts to blink away tears. 

“Papa.” Joxter wails, but Snufkin is relentless. Each smack and pop of the belt against his skin echoes throughout the clearing, and soon the Mumrik can’t help but cry. 

Snufkin grunts, and something wet and hot spurts against his back. Joxter cringes away, rubbing his tear-soaked cheeks, lip quivering. It feels sticky when he reaches back to touch it, and it’s a filmy sort of white, clinging to his fingers. 

“Papa?” His voice cracks, but Snufkin’s already pulling away. “Papa, what’s this?” 

He’s ignored, and he watches as Snufkin slips into his sleeping bag, rolls over, and promptly goes to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> snufkin and joxter catch a rabbit

The rabbit looks so pretty, Joxter thinks. She’s strung up by her hind paws, and she may be dead but she’s still very pretty with a knife slipping under her fur and pulling her open. Snufkin’s speaking, explaining what he’s doing, but Joxter is gazing fondly at the lurid display. He folds his paws over his crotch when he feels himself begin to tingle. 

“-xter, Joxter.” A paw slaps his cheek. “Are you listening? I’m—“ 

Snufkin’s eyes fall to the small tent in his trousers, and the disgust that flares in his expression fills Joxter with shame. 

“I’m skinning an animal to eat, Joxter.” He says reproachfully. “Skinning it.” 

“Are you enjoying this?” He’s stepped closer to Joxter, looming over the little Mumrik. Joxter trembles. 

“No, no,” Joxter sniffs, wrings his paws, “Papa, no—I’m sorry, I’m list—“ 

He doesn’t see the closed fist that pounds into his nose, but he should have. Cartilage crunches under Snufkin’s knuckles, and Joxter lets out a pained cry, paws flying to cup his face and stem the blood flow.

“You’re sick.” Snufkin’s seething, stepping closer so Joxter has to backpedal to avoid being trampled. He’s hit again and again, and the boy wails at the pain. “You’re just a Joxter, I expected this. But—but you’re sicker than even them. You’re worse than Joxters.” 

He’s not, he’s not. He’s a good boy, he is! He doesn’t hurt anybody like papa says he does. He would never. 

“I’m sorry, papa.” Joxter cries, terribly shrill in the little patch of woods. Snufkin punches him harder, and one of his teeth knock loose, tumble down into his throat where he swallows it on the next punch. 

“You will be.”


End file.
